It was absurdly over-the-top. White roses everywhere. A ten-piece orchestra. Enough champagne to drown a city.
Mark stood near the front of the ballroom looking smug in his tuxedo, laughing with a circle of board members, probably spinning some version of the story in which he was noble and generous for allowing me to attend.
“Ready?” Julian asked, offering me his arm.
He looked devastating in a black custom-tailored suit.
On my left, Leo and Liam stood in matching miniature tuxedos like little princes.
“Ready,” I said.
We didn’t just enter the room.
We took it over.
The energy shifted the second we walked in. Conversations dipped. Heads turned. The unstable, abandoned ex-wife they expected was nowhere to be found.
In her place stood a woman who looked like she owned the hotel.
I saw Mark’s face first.
He was mid-laugh when his eyes landed on me. His jaw dropped. The champagne glass in his hand tilted dangerously.
Then he saw Julian.
And the shock turned instantly into rage.
The room went silent enough that you could hear a fork touch a plate.
“Julian?” Mark stammered, stepping forward, ignoring Tiffany standing beside him in a gown that looked like a giant designer marshmallow. “What… what are you doing here? With her?”
Julian didn’t flinch.
He gave Mark that cold CEO smile, the one that had probably ruined careers in boardrooms.
“I believe the invitation included a plus-one, Mark,” Julian said smoothly. “And I couldn’t think of a more beautiful, brilliant woman to escort than Elena.”
